


Cause Two Can Keep A Secret If One Of Them Is... in love?

by mister_jacobi



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Canon-Typical spiders, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre Canon, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2019-11-29 10:11:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18221735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mister_jacobi/pseuds/mister_jacobi
Summary: In which Jon's down on his luck and Martin just can't say no when he sees someone in need.(Set before season 1)





	1. Pathetic

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm not sure how much this fits into the real timeline.  
> We know that Jon and Georgie dated during university, but at some point, the stuff with Alex also happened, so the time's a little off. I decided that they must have met afterward and have been dating well into the first year that Jon had been working for the institute.  
> If Jon was born around 1987, then in 2011, when he started working for the institute, he must have been around 24 years old.  
> Just so you have some idea on where to put this story.

There was something entirely pathetic about the situation. Jon had finally found himself a job where his field of study wasn't completely irrelevant and he actually felt useful. He even got along well enough with his coworkers, considering his personality. Tim had decided to take most of his remarks as a joke and Sasha was quick to follow with snark, it worked out somehow. Even with Martin who seemed way too soft-hearted to even consider working in the institute.  
Jon guessed he still got a bit of a puppy bonus, considering he only just got out of university, which made him the youngest in their crew of researchers. Jon couldn't say he hated it, but it was weird suddenly being reduced to 'the new guy'.  
Of course, that wasn't the pathetic part. The pathetic part was, that he had been working there for six months now and only managed to make his coworkers believe him that he wasn't an utter waste of time and actually worth something in this job. The pathetic part was that even though he didn't believe in any of the statements or the field the institute decided to focus on, he still worked overtime and night shifts and took care of tasks that weren't part of his work description, just because he so desperately wanted to be taken seriously.  
And what did it lead to? The ambition and the natural need to prove one's worth to others? It led to coming home and always getting into an argument with Georgie. They always found a new topic. Sometimes it would be about work, sometimes about their relationship, sometimes even just about what to eat for dinner. They started to argue about everything. They both hated it, they both didn't know what to do.  
She was right, of course, about the most pressing matter. He had been ignoring her, he had been focusing on everything more than her. He had been colder and to say it harshly, unloving. It's been like that for a while now and if Jon was being honest, he had spent his time waiting for her to just throw him away, the way he deserves it, while she had been waiting for him to try harder.  
It was such a small and simple problem but it worked itself up into being bigger and bigger until every single conversation ended in an argument or with someone being hurt. Most of the time Georgie.

“Jon, I can't do this anymore.” He made her cry and he didn't know what to do. Jon just felt himself take a step back, away from her. The fear of saying the wrong thing keeping him from saying anything at all. “I love you, Jon. I really do. But this.. it doesn't work like that, not anymore.”  
Jon looked away and even though he had known that this was inevitable, it still hurt and scared him and he didn't know how to react, so he didn't.  
He couldn't lose Georgie. It all became a little too much a little too quick. He could barely hear Georgie through the blood rushing through his ears, his breath quickened and his heart started to beat twice its usual pace and the most irrational part of him told him to just run. That running away now would be better for both of them than staying and having just another argument.  
“Jon. Now is not the time to lock me out. Don't do this.” There was a hand on his arm, alerting him and making him open eyes he hadn't know he had closed.  
Their eyes met and they both smiled sadly. They both knew what would come next. Jon would say he's sorry, he'd never learned how to do this. Up to this point, Georgie had always said that's okay. Her answer would always be 'you'll learn.'  
But this time was different. What she said this time was,  
“You have to learn, Jon. You can't always use this as an excuse. I know it's harder for you than for others but you can't hurt people and expect them to forgive you just because you don't know it any better.”  
They keep eye contact and it's an almost painful endeavor for Jon. Had always been bad at most things that seem like such an integral part of social interactions, which made the confusion over why someone who could blend in everywhere and make friends with everyone, would want him. As he looked at her though, Jon wished he'd done it more often. Georgie had the most beautiful brown eyes, big and round and Jon could lose himself in how deep and dark they were. Just one endless pool of love and kindness.  
Jon hated himself for being the one to put the tears there.  
“I know.” He took a deep breath and smiled, his own eyes threatening to let some tears drop. “You are amazing. The most wonderful person I know. Not just because you're the only one who ever showed me love, but because of who you are. So strong and beautiful.” Now or never, he thought to himself. It won't fix anything, but he owed her.  
“And I can count myself lucky to be granted your love.”  
“Thank you, Jon." She sniffed and chuckled humorlessly, "So this is it?”  
“This is it.” He looked away and swallowed hard. He had seen it coming but that didn't mean it wouldn't feel like a goddamn personal tragedy. Maybe it was. Maybe he should write it down and keep written evidence of the biggest tragedy of the modern age. Watch one fool let go the most magnificent person to ever walk this earth. Watch as he's ready to let his own piece of heaven leave him. Though, maybe that was the right thing to do. His chance to finally give her something back, by letting her go.  
“I know it's a long used phrase, but I really do mean it. We can still be friends, Jon. I love you.”  
“That would be nice.” He didn't allow himself to say he loved her too, fearing that then the tears would fall.  
  


Of course, Jon couldn't stay at their flat afterward. It was weird. He still felt the need to turn around and run away, so instead, he told her he'd stay at a friends place, that he didn't want to make it more awkward than necessary, he'd pick up his belongings once he had his own place, if that was alright for her. They both knew Jon had no friend to go to, but Georgie was too relieved at having had the conversation. She wouldn't question what he was talking about or try to go back to taking care of him immediately. She owed herself that. So she let him go.

Which led to the truly horrifically pathetic part of the story.  
With nowhere else to go, Jon found himself standing inside the institute once again, deciding to work himself through his first night as a homeless guy, with not even enough money to afford a hotel.  
Lucky for him, five pm was still early enough to make it seem like an alright idea. Like the idea of staying at his new workplace overnight wasn't utterly incongruous. Utterly idiotic, too. He could get fired for that, but where else was he gonna go?  
So Jon sat down as if nothing had happened and went on to do his research, write a report and file it. One after another, hour after hour. Until he felt his eyes grow heavy and his attention slip. It was ten pm now and if no cleaner had found him until then, no one from the cleaning staff would find him now. So he allowed himself to sleep.  
It didn't feel like more than half an hour of rest until a gentle hand touched his shoulder and made him rouse.  
"Jon?"  
Jon blinked his eyes open and looked around in confusion, for a moment forgetting, just where he was or why. Until reality hit him and he remembered what had let up to this point. He took a deep breath and put on his glasses, only to look up and be met by Martin's hazel eyes. "Jon, did you fall asleep while working? I thought you left hours ago?"  
If Jon had ever felt like a deer in headlights, then that was it. His heart skipped a beat as he tried to come up with a plausible lie.  
"I came back. I wanted to finish this report.." his words trailed off, as Martin's eyes went to the pile of files next to him, discrediting his excuse immediately. "And then I just couldn't stop. I'm a bit of a workaholic, I think." He chuckled and looked away in embarrassment.  
"You..." Martin sighed and frowned down at the newest member of their staff. "You came back after your shift has already ended so you could keep working?" He couldn't help the worry lacing his voice. It could be his imagination, but Martin could swear that there were tear stains on Jon's cheeks. If Martin didn't know it any better, he'd say Jon looked like the image of desperation and bad luck at the moment.  
"Tell me if I'm overstepping a boundary," he started, looking around and noticing a bag which looked an awful lot like it might hold clothes and some hygiene products, "but could it be, that you need a place to stay?"  
If the look on Jon's face was anything to go by, then yes. He looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. All wide-eyed and guilty.  
"I... uhm." his face screwed up in displeasure. "My girlfriend broke up with me." Why did he tell him that? Jon wanted to slap himself across the face. Why was he so stupid?  
"Oh." Martin looked like he was in physical pain due to this incredibly awkward situation. Something they had in common apparently.  
"Yes."  
"Right."  
"Fuck. Shit. Alright. Sorry. You didn't want to know."  
"No, no no no. Jon. Sorry. I was just surprised you actually told me. Usually, you're so... reserved." Their eyes didn't meet and Jon realized Martin was just as bad at this as him, which was almost laughable. "Do you want to come with me? I've got a spare bedroom and I think that's a little more comfortable than," he gestured at the table and the Jon and the whole scene, "this."  
Usually, Jon would say now. But his back was already hurting and something deep inside him yearned for human contact. Something he felt the institute really couldn't give him. The institute was spooky, cold and empty, not just at night but especially then. So he surprised both of them when he nodded his head yes. "That would be lovely. Thank you, Martin"


	2. The Room Mate Is A Bit Of A Mood Killer

The ride to Martin's place was awful. They didn't so much as look at each other, let alone talk. Once they had left the institute, a sudden realization had dawned upon them as they understood just how weird the situation really was. Jon felt humiliated and didn't dare open his mouth in fear of showing any more weakness. And Martin was fidgeting the whole ride through.  
Over their silence, the chattering on the tube seemed deafening. There was a baby crying somewhere in the back and some drunk teenagers hollering further in the front and Jon could swear that he had never felt more murderous in his life.  
His leg bouncing up and down and up and down and Jon tried to will it to stop, but the more he concentrated on it, the quicker it seemed to bounce and the more nervous he became, the unease that came with the situation settling uncomfortably in his stomach.  
Or maybe that was hunger. He had missed every meal since breakfast and that was about fourteen hours ago.  
_Tea isn't breakfast, Jon._ He practically heard Georgie scold him, she always had to make him remember how to person right and force something edible down his throat.  
Thinking about it seemed to wake his body up completely and make it remember that, indeed, it did require nutrition and care even after fucking up the only good thing in his life, which led to his stomach growling quietly, but sounding almost annoyed, as if it was saying, _Really? You forgot to eat again? You're 24, get your shit together._ Jon was very aware that this was just his sleep-deprived imagination speaking, but he did feel rather irritated.

Martin quirked up and looked at Jon like one might look at a starving puppy and Jon remembered, that he was actually the youngest on the team and the others still seemed to consider him half a child. “Have you eaten anything today?”  
If it wasn't for the sincere worry in his voice, Jon would have rolled his eyes. Instead, he felt thrown back into the position of an actual child, simply shaking his head in shame.  
Jon wasn't usually a pushover like that. Usually, he'd throw a snarky remark at Martin or counter with sarcasm, but the foreign situation, emotional exhaustion and the fact that Martin was job-wise above him made him compliant.  
Martin's eyes just grew in size, something Jon wouldn't have thought possible. It was typical for Martin to run around with deep lines of anxiousness set between his eyebrows and eyes as big as plates as he worried over everything that might go wrong.  
This was a new record, though. Jon was almost impressed.

“I just didn't get around to it.” He tried to save his honor. No one at work needed to know how incapable of self-care this grown ass man was. “Was a bit of a...” he trailed off, unsure of how to speak to Martin without exposing himself too much and letting Martin see a more emotionally vulnerable side of him. “A bit of a messy day, I guess.” He tried to sound passive as if the most bothersome part of Georgie breaking up with him was that he was now practically homeless and not the fact that the most important person in his life had now finally seen how worthless he really was. The rational part of his mind tried to tell him, that Georgie hadn't broken up with him, because she found something better or because he was worthless. That she actually wanted to stay friends and that she still liked him. That she was sad about breaking up with him. And that he understood that it was the best for them.  
Sadly, Jon rarely listened to his rational side when it came to emotions and so the idea that Georgie secretly hated him all along seemed much more plausible.  
When Jon looked up at Martin, he was surprised to see the other man smiling.

  


Martin cares.  
That's the first thing anyone who knows him finds out. He cares about everything and everyone. No matter who you are. You don't even have to be kind to him for him to care.  
So when he came back to the institute after having forgotten a book there that he had meant to examine at home and found the newest addition to their team asleep at his desk, how could he have ignored him?  
He had almost walked past him, the low light hiding him perfectly from sight, but even if Martin didn't recognize him immediately, the fact that there was something slumped over the table caught his attention and he had to examine it, make sure that everything was alright at the institute. But coming closer and understanding that this figure was a body, well, worry had overcome him instantly and he found himself _needing_ to make sure the kid was okay.

_Sometimes Martin forgot he was barely a year older than him._

It was a sight to behold, Martin thought to himself. He rarely actually allowed himself this kind of thought, but he couldn't help it. Jon was beautiful as he rested his head on the table, his figure barely illuminated by the soft lighting coming in through the windows.  
Yes, he was skinny and kind of goofy looking, constantly seeming like someone had tried to wring him out and stretched him too thin. Always looking like he had a total of two hours of sleep the past week, but Martin couldn't help it. He was beautiful.  
The fact, that he always looked like he knew how much better than everyone else he was, like he knew that he was the smartest person in the room and with the mess of ash blonde hair on his head, wild curls falling into his face and not fitting his neat and straight up personality at all, he was beautiful.  
But the appreciation of the picture that would now be burned into his mind forever wasn't worth the worry that overcame Martin when he found Jon sprawled across the table, frowning deeply even in his sleep.  
So he woke him and really, he had no choice but to offer to take him home when he understood what the situation looked like.  
  
Martin had the rising suspicion, that Jon wasn't as put together as he liked to make others believe. He would never talk about his personal life and the only laugh or smile one would get out of him was with a witty remark or by semi-insulting someone.  
They were all still trying to figure out his humor.  
Martin still hoped to get him out of his reserve a little, was still hoping to get to know him a little.  
And it would be a lie if he said he wasn't at least a tiny bit delighted to have the possibility to bond with Jon over this personal crisis of his. It was mean, a little cruel, Martin knew. But he couldn't help it. He had wanted to talk to Jon for as long as the other had been working with them and now he was in his favor and Martin knew that Jon has had a girlfriend, who had broken up with him. Now Martin knew that a Jon who had just been broken up with went to work and forgot to eat and didn't cry in front of others.  
Now he knew that an emotional Jon was still very composed but just a little off, as if the stitches were slowly ripping at the seam, a piece of stuffing after another finding its way out into the open, only waiting for Martin to pick it up.  
Martin shouldn't be happy about it, but he couldn't help it. He wondered if it helped that he felt sorry.  
  
“I'm hungry, too. Let's grab something to eat first? There's a Chinese place around the corner.” He hoped the smile on his face was a reassuring one.  
“Oh. Okay.” Jon nodded and looked just a little dazed as if he had been pulled out of a too-long string of thoughts, in which he had wrapped himself up tightly.  
“That would be good.”  
Jon's eyes seemed dull as if his body was only going on reserves now, his usually bright eyes seemed to be lightened only by a candle instead of the beacon Martin was used to finding there.

He wondered if that was because of emotional and mental exhaustion, simple fatigue or even just the fact that he hadn't eaten in multiple hours. Or maybe all of the above.  
What he knew was that he wanted to help.

They continued on in silence, which – as awkward and uncomfortable as it had started – settled to feel almost consoling. The solace of being around another person without the agony of interaction.

Jon had to admit, around Martin, it almost felt like he could breathe.

Once they arrived at Martin's place, Jon almost felt like himself again. His mind slowly seemed to let the wall between him and the outer world down. He did no longer feel like he was nothing, but a passive observer in his own head, almost ready to talk to Martin. Which was good, because he wasn't sure how long he could keep the silence going without it growing questionable.  
Jon watched Martin fumble for his keys with mild interest.  
Martin was a contradiction in and off himself.  
Jon had never met someone quite as gentle as him and yet he looked so tall and massive, that the first impression Jon had was that he was quite the intimidating figure.  
Oh, how wrong first impressions can be.  
At least since he walked in on Martin carrying a spider out of the building and letting it down further away from the busy city streets, Jon should have known that it was hard to come by a gentler soul than Martin.  
Maybe that knowledge was one of the reasons why he said yes to Martin taking him home.  
Jon hadn't noticed the transition but at some point, during the past six months, he had started trusting Martin.  
Maybe he should tell Georgie. _Remember how you told me I needed to let people in? That I needed friends? Do you know what this is called Georgie?_ _ **Growth.**_

But maybe that would be petty and childish.  
But then again, Jon was in fact very petty and definitely a little childish in this regard.  
Instead, though, he said, “thank you, Martin. It means a lot.”  
And got the kindest smile in return.  
Jon hadn't noticed he was feeling cold and somewhat empty, until that smile came and filled him up, warming him from the inside.  
It might have been a bad idea from a professional point of view, to come with Martin and blur the border between personal and work life, but damn, Jon couldn't possibly get himself to care or regret it.  
“That's what friends are for, Jon.”  
Jon wanted to laugh in his face. What a gullible, beautiful man. _I don't have friends_ , he wanted to answer, but felt like that might be a little over the top.  
“Sorry about the mess, though. I didn't really expect anyone to come over.”  
Martin didn't tell him that this was because he didn't really have friends, he guessed that might be information you should keep to yourself.  
The flat really was a mess, though. There were books, reports, and files lying around, as well as dirty dishes, which Martin had to admit, some of them were older than two days.

Jon wasn't put off, though. He couldn't care less about dirty dishes. God knows he forgot to do them often enough while engulfed in work. What he absolutely dreaded, however, was the fact that there were spiders. Not even pet spiders. Martin Blackwood just was the kind of person, apparently, that decided that letting big black, everything devouring spiders live in the corners of your flat was an okay thing to do. Definitely not questionable. Definitely not to be reconsidered and altered.  
  
“Jon? Are you... okay?”  
The picture would almost be comical, if not for the fact that it was deeply worrisome, Martin thought. Jon seemed to be frozen in place, staring up into the corner of the room, as if the spider living there had personally done him harm. Like it was at fault for everything that ever went wrong in his life.  
“That's George. I couldn't get myself to throw him ou-” He stopped mid-sentence when Jon's judging eyes met his.  
“You gave it a name?” Up to that point, Jon had really thought Martin was a rational human being. Now he wasn't even so sure about the human part.  
“Are you...” He had to stifle a laugh. “Jon, are you scared of spiders?”  
“NO?” his voice broke in the middle of the declaration and if Martin had ever seen someone contradict himself within the span of a single word, that would be it. Now he couldn't help but chuckle.  
“They can't hurt you, Jon, don't worry. They're only a threat to beings small enough to get caught in their web.”  
And Jon knew. Jon knew that spiders were actually not dangerous, as long as they weren't poisonous. He knew. He'd been told often enough, that spiders were more scared of him than he was of them. He knew, but he also felt like that was a fucking lie.  
He'd been lost in their web once. There was no telling it wouldn't happen again.  
Jon wasn't sure what emotions the look on his face conveyed, but he was very sure that if his face was a painting and someone had to dissect it, words like 'trauma', 'terror' and 'horror' would be used en mass.  
How he knew? Martin stopped laughing immediately and instead looked at him with eyes so big and full of worry, Jon wanted to puke, punch him, or jump out of the window.  
Instead, he took a deep breath and decided that he could survive a night with Mr. Spider. They were childhood friends, after all.  
“Sorry. I know. You're right.”

 


	3. Arach-Nasty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poems referenced in this are   
> "She Walks In Beauty" and "So We'll Go No More A-Roving" by Lord Byron.

“You are joking, right?” Despite himself, Jon couldn't help but laugh as he looked at Martin's bookshelf. “You are...”

“I like poetry, yes.”

“But this is...”

“Almost exclusively from the romantic era, yes.”

“So I take it. You like Byron?”

“What gave it away?” Martin tried to play innocent and unknowing. As if he wasn't very aware of the oddity that came with a look in his bookshelf.

Jon stayed silent for a moment and contemplated his options. He looked to meet Martin's eyes. Martin, who seemed awfully ashamed but also oddly passive. As if preparing to fight off any insinuations.

“What gave it away?” Jon's voice was shaken by a chuckle. “You mean apart from the fact that out of the thirty books on this shelf, fifteen carry his name?” That number alone was laughable.

“Apart from that, yes.” Martin nodded and didn't meet his eyes.

“Well, I am a psychic and the first time we met, I knew you'd be... that kind of person.” He accentuated the last part with a small, dismissive click of his tongue.

Now, though, Martin seemed to be insulted. “That kind of..? That kind of person? What does that mean?”

“You know... a romantic.” Jon rolled his eyes and let a bit of disgust flow into his voice. “I bet you, if I look inside these books at any of the marked pages, it's going to be a love poem, isn't it?”

Silence.

“No.”

“Are you sure?” He raised his eyebrows, one hand already reaching for a book.

“Yes. It's not going to be a love poem.”

“Last chance,” he said, taking one out. He watched Martin's cheeks flame up in a bright red and knew he had taken the right one to prove his point. He opened it on a marked page and started to read.

“So you are not a romantic?” He hadn't expected to find himself laughing that day. But he did.

“She walks in beauty is pretty romantic, if you ask me.”

“Just a coincidence, Jon.” Martin sighed exasperatedly.

As uncomfortable as he found the situation, it was nice to see Jon fully awake and present, even laughing. Even if it was at his expense.

Martin had wondered about whether or not Jon would enjoy reading poems. If maybe he was as nostalgic as him. Or what sort of books he read. His first guess had been that Jon would prefer historical books, biographies, simply anything with roots in reality. He hadn't taken him to be one to enjoy fiction, but one day, he had come in with a book by Lovecraft and Martin decided to reconstruct his picture of him. He had tried to engage him in a conversation about books, thought Jon might be as passionate about what he reads as Martin was, but when Martin tried to talk about Lovecraft and recommend another title, Jon had simply told him he wouldn't read another, that he found the one he read boring after the first chapter.

Upon being questioned, what author Jon enjoyed, Martin just got a shrug. _No one, really_.

It had been a weird answer for someone who always seemed to carry a book with him.

  
  


What Jon was doing here, though, was offering some tidbits of information about himself and Martin found himself soaking them up like a thirsty man might want to drown himself.

He also couldn't help but to see that the more Jon read of the poem, the sadder his gaze seemed to grow.

Of course. Showing love poems to a person who had only recently been broken up with was an awful idea. Martin wanted to slap himself across the face for being so stupid.

He reached for the book and put it away.

“Come on, let's eat.” He kept smiling at Jon and hoped he could somehow make him smile again as well.

  
  


As they ate in silence, Martin kept looking up at Jon and quickly back down into his food before Jon could notice or their eyes could meet, but Jon's eyes kept going back to GEORGE.

Jon could swear, that GEORGE was glaring right back at him. Jon hated all spiders, but usually, he didn't feel like spiders were returning that sentiment. GEORGE did, however. Jon saw it in its unblinking eyes. Hatred like no spider, no little eight-legged crawler should be able to muster.

Jon wondered if spiders had a territorial vein.

Was he intruding on its place to live? Would it try to reclaim it? If Jon actually were to take Martin up on the offer and stay overnight and not flee the place before it was time to retreat to bed, would it try to kill him in his sleep, laughing over every spilled drop of blood, cocooning him in its web, suffocating him in the fabric, slowly but surely devouring him, gaining more and more sentience as it absorbed whatever knowledge he ever had to offer the world. Until there was nothing left of him, the only sign there had ever been a Jonathan Sims, the spiders grotesquely swollen, bulbous body and the echo of a scream unheard.

_Don't worry, they're more scared of you than you are of them_ , would probably be part of the eulogy.

 

“Jon, I don't know how your psychic abilities work, but I'm pretty sure staring at him will not make George go up in flames.”

“I can,” he stabbed his fork into one of the pieces of meat on his plate, “try.” It was all he said, before going back to picking at his food and holding eye contact with GEORGE. He hadn't eaten that day but somehow he also had no appetite either.

And so they went back to silence.

  
  


“I couldn't help but notice some hostility towards Byron earlier,” was Martin's pathetic try at starting a conversation again, as he finished his plate and Jon's was still half full.

“That's because I dislike him.”

“Why?”

“Because it's boring.”

“You don't like poetry?”

“No, I can appreciate some good poetry. I just can't find anything about Byron that would excite me. The way he writes. I don't like it” Jon shrugged.

“Who doesn't like Byron, though? He's one of the greatest poets of his time.”

“He's whiny. Existence is pain and Birth a curse. Great. We all figured that out without his help.”

“You... Have you ever read anything by him that wasn't forced onto you by the school?” Martin chuckled, honestly amused by this conversation.

Jon, on the other hand, was now the one to be insulted. “I read Byron, okay? I wouldn't share my opinion on things I know nothing about.”

“Are you sure you-”

Jon rolled his eyes and decided to start with the first poem that came to his mind.

“So, we'll go no more a roving/ So late into the night.”

Martin's eyes went wide in confusion at what was happening. “Jon-”

“Though the heart be still as loving,” Jon was basically shouting the lines at Martin, “And the moon be still as bright.”

“Jon, are you... reciting?” Martin had never heard someone recite poetry quite so angrily. He feared he might have hit a nerve when insinuating Jon had no greater knowledge about Byron. 

“For the sword outwears its sheath/ And the soul outwears the breast/ And the heart must pause to breathe/ And love itself have rest!”

From all the things Martin had imagined Jon to do, shouting a poem about world-weariness at him was not one of them.

“Do you want me to go on or is that proof enough, Martin?” He crossed his arms and huffed out a breath.

“Jon, don't take this the wrong way, but-”

“But?”

“You are pretty pretentious. I kind of feel like you learned this poem for this situation specifically.”

“Because I don't have anything better to do with my time but to learn poetry by poets I dislike just so I can bring my point across. Of course. Not even I am lacking that much of a social life.”

That's exactly what Jon did, but he'd rather die before admitting that.

“At least I didn't name a spider after a poet.”

  
  


They kept sitting there until Jon had finally finished his plate as well, Martin was insisting that he'd have to have a whole meal and he wouldn't stand for anything less. And so it was close to two am, when they finally got up and ready for bed.

Jon still felt the need to just leave. Not even because the thought of staying with Martin, basically a stranger, was so unsettling, but because he felt like he was intruding.

Jon knew too much about Martin now. He knew that he lived in a bit of a mess and for poetry. He had found one or two romance novels too and was sure Martin had even more stored away somewhere else. While Jon had found out, that romanticism isn't for him, he found it endearing in Martin. It was a testament to his naivete and oddly misplaced optimism. It was a nice change.

  
  


While Martin searched for a blanket and pillow for Jon to sleep with, Jon looked around the flat and noticed, that there was not a single picture. No family. No friends. Nothing personal on display.

Jon felt a cold chill run down his spine as he wondered whether Martin was as alone as him.

If maybe having Jon over was something that helped him too.

But those were all things Jon didn't want to know about his coworkers. He wanted them to stay blank pages of professionalism. Nothing more, nothing less. He didn't want to think that Jon had never met someone so kind. Or that sometimes when he thought Jon wasn't paying attention, his eyes grew a little sad. And Jon definitely didn't want to think that someone like him didn't deserve to be sad.

  
  


One night, Jon told himself.

One night. Tomorrow, he'd stay somewhere else. Though he had no idea how or where.

He could go back to his grandmother's in Bournemouth but then he'd be forced to drive two and a half hours every day and that would just be... bad.

He'd also be forced to talk to his grandmother and that would be even worse.

Seventy years, that woman and as fit as she was twenty years ago when she had to take him in.

Seventy years, and her demeanor hadn't mellowed down in the slightest.

A force of a woman, Jon had to admit.

But also a force that didn't leave a chance to nag at him untaken. And finding out Georgie had broken up with him would only give her more fuel.

He could hear her mutter under her breath or berate him in a half yelling tone of voice. He could feel her slap the back of his head slightly with the palm of her hand or with a wooden spoon.

_That woman was the best thing you could ever hope for and you let her go? She was the best part of you._

She had actually made it known last time he visited that he shouldn't bother if Georgie didn't tag along. _At least one person that can hold an actual conversation._ The 'I don't know what I did wrong with you' had stayed unspoken but hung heavily between them that day.

Still did, if he was being honest. He loved her, he really did and he knew she did the best she could considering the circumstances. But that didn't mean she did a particularly good job.

As a teenager, he had gone through a phase where he hated her. Where he found that he deserved better and felt like the world owed him for taking his parents so early and leaving her no one, nothing, just his grandmother. A grandmother who seemed to despise the way he was. And yes, he knew. He was an awful child. Annoying and demanding. With a personality, only a mother could love.

He knew it was unfair of him to ask for more than she was capable of giving, but a child needed certain necessities and even if she couldn't love him, she could have at least tried to pretend.

  
  


Martin came back with the bedding and Jon snapped himself out of his thoughts. Staying at his grandmother's definitely was not an option, alright.

“You know, you can sleep in my bed and I'll take the sofa. It's really okay for me.

“Thank you, Martin, but this is already more than I feel comfortable accepting. Definitely more than I would ever expect a coworker to offer me.”

He couldn't bring himself to look him in the eyes. The shame of the situation overcame him slowly but surely and the need to J U S T   L E A V E, grew by the second.

But Martin's smile was unwavering. It stayed where it was and his eyes were as kind as humanly possible.   
“No need to thank me, Jon. That's what friends are for,” he answered the second time that day and hoped he could convince Jon to view him as more than a colleague too.

His words were honeycomb wrapping him up like a blanket.   
Jon nodded and took the bedding. “Okay. Good night, Martin.”  
“Good night, Jon.”   
With that, Martin went to his bed, and Jon lay down on the couch.   
  
  


Only when the lights were out and the only noises he could hear were the humming of the refrigerator and Martin's soft snoring from the next room, did he remember GEORGE hanging in one of the corners of the room.   
He had forgotten to keep an eye out for him and when he turned the lights back on, and hastily searched the room, he couldn't find him. There was only one thing worse than having to share a room with a spider.  
Losing sight of it.   
Fear wrapped around his brain and took over it, threw rationality out the window and gave him too many thoughts that read like a manual on how to form if-clauses.

Dread crept up his spine and paralyzed him where he sat. He couldn't bear to move, couldn't bear to lie back down and couldn't bear to close his eyes.

So he just sat there, unmoving, as if ~~Mr. Spider~~ GEORGE couldn't find him if he sat as still as the furniture, staring ahead and trying to ignore the feeling of tender legs crawling up his legs and beneath his shirt.

A part of his mind thought this was good. The fear, the panic.

Better than trying to sleep and seeing Georgie's big sad eyes stare up at him. The tears, the hurt. Better fear than the inevitable guilt that would overtake him soon enough.

He would never learn how to love her right.   
It was a good thing that she let him go. That she set herself free.

Fear was better and so he concentrated on the way his lungs felt tight and he felt too many eyes on him.   
He felt like he deserved it.   
Punishment for being so fucking bad at emotions.   
He deserved it.

  
  


He sat there, lost in his panic and trying to breathe normally until the sun went back up and he decided it was as good a time as ever to leave again.   
Martin was still fast asleep and Jon couldn't take it any longer. It was six am, if he went out now, he'd be there only an hour early.

So, Jon proceeded to get ready, as quietly as possible. As a thank you, Jon would have wanted to get tea ready for Martin, but they both knew, that Martin's tea tasted better than the best Jon could fabricate.   
And so he simply took care of his bedding, folded it neatly and washed the dishes from earlier, before leaving.   
As he opened the door, Jon took one last swift look around, but still, he couldn't find GEORGE.   
For the rest of the day, Jon would keep checking himself for spiders.

 


	4. Baby I'm Bad (at everything honestly, you could be doing so much better)

When Martin woke up, he was alone.   
Once he left the bedroom, he'd swear he'd been feeling this bone-chilling loneliness from the moment he opened his eyes and that it was in no relation to Jon.   
In reality, he had opened the door to the living room, honestly excited to see him.   
Excited to wake up and not be alone. It was something that hadn't happened in far too long and he was _excited_ to break out of this pattern.  
But the couch was empty, the bags were gone and he was alone.   
He always was, though.   
Always would be.  
After the first moment of realization had passed, Martin went on his way and got ready to start his day.   
It was filled with simple enough tasks, and yet he had to soon understand, that this was an off day. That brushing his teeth took ten minutes, the shower half an hour and finding something to wear was dragged into lasting too long by falling back onto his bed and almost taking another nap.

When he did manage to find clothes he was semi-comfortable in, it was the same shirt he always wore. A soft woolen jumper that felt warm like a hug and never failed to make him feel a little less awful.   
Martin eyed himself in the mirror and regretted instantly.   
It was one of those days, he came to understand, on which the very look into a mirror made him want to curl up, close his eyes and lie on the ground for a few hours.   
Instead, he went outside, his body screaming at him to go back to a resting position, and put one foot in front of the other, slowly but surely finding his way to the train station.  
When he got to the institute, the first thing he did was to make tea.   
He always relied on small things to make him feel better. A good cup of tea, his favorite sweater, a gentle smile, and a good poem were only some of them.  
If the book was opened to 'So we'll go no more A-Roving' and he read it in Jon's voice, then that was just a coincidence.

  
  


It took two hours until Jon's and his ways met and once Martin took a look at Jon, he couldn't possibly feel any bitterness towards the kid in front of him.   
The thing was, Jon still looked so _young._  
Not as in 'innocent' or 'childish' or 'hopeful' or all those adjectives one connected to the concept of childhood, but there was something about him that gave Martin the need to take care of him and protect him.   
Maybe it was the brightness in his eyes, or how he fumbled and stumbled through social interactions that reminded Martin a little of a newborn deer. But he always wanted to help him.   
Now was no different.   
Jon looked like he had slept a total of two hours (Martin feared that was still a little generous, actually).

The bags beneath Jon's eyes were deep dark purple bruises and if he hadn't known any better, Martin would have guessed he might have been in a fight.   
Now, he understood while Jon would have left so early, Martin couldn't imagine lying awake in another man's flat after having his heart broken.   
A sad mind's biggest enemy were idle hands.   
And so instead of making it any more awkward, than it probably already was on Jon, he asked: “Have you eaten breakfast, yet?”   
To his surprise, Jon answered with a mildly amused huff.   
Martin just shook his head. “Jon, you look like a hot mess”  
“Thank you. I'm trying really hard to bring this look across.”   
“You...” He sighed and pinched his nose.   
“That's not really the moment to make a joke,” he hoped it was supposed to be a joke, the monotony with which Jon spoke didn't really let it shine through.   
Martin tried to look Jon in the eyes, but Jon had better things to do. He stared at the walls around them as if trying to catch them moving.   
“Jon? Did you sleep at all last night?”  
“No.”  
“Are you okay?”  
Martin took the silence and the brief rolling of Jon's eyes as an indicator, that no, he wasn't.

“Yeah. We're taking a break and you're eating something.”  
Against all expectations, Jon just nodded and went to get his jacket without much ado, which only worried Martin even more, as he had expected to have to drag Jon out of the building.  
How he could have ever thought that Jon was in any way mysterious, Martin didn't know. That boy was a mess and Martin had the apprehension he might also be completely inept.   
As he waited for Jon to get his bag, he watched him and noticed that he walked weird, as if there was an itching sensation that he couldn't help but try to scratch, his hands swatting at his legs every so often, as if trying to push something off.   
Martin wondered if that was just a tick he had never noticed about Jon before or if there was something else.   
Jon came back, the jacket in his hand and would still not meet Martin's eyes, somehow though, he had a bit of a sway towards him as if trying to receive a bit of physical affection. If Martin were a little more comfortable with himself and knew Jon a little better, he would have put an arm around his shoulder now and pulled him into a hug.   
Instead, he swallowed that urge down and just kept walking. However, this little incline to his side was hard to ignore and kept Martin on edge, whenever their fingers almost brushed against each other and he had to force himself to keep his eyes ahead and not stare down at him and have his mouth drop open.   
He knew his mouth would drop because the sun was out that day and Jon's skin glowed beneath it and no matter how deep and dark and sad his eyes were, Martin knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from staring.

He knew no one in the institute agreed, but he found Jon to be one of the most beautiful beings to have ever graced him with his presence.   
They reached the nearest coffee shop and entered.  
Jon got them a table in a corner by the windows as Martin stood in line to get them their order. When Martin asked what he might like, Jon just shrugged, still not meeting his eyes and Martin feared the other might have never eaten something he actually enjoyed, but that was a ridiculous thought, right?

Martin came back with two cups of Jasmine tea and two tomato-mozzarella wraps that he found he actually quite enjoyed and hoped Jon would share his opinion.

Jon was quiet and stared out the window. And Martin honestly didn't know what he should do about it. He seemed so very out of it and beside himself and Martin wanted to help.   
He wanted to take the hurt out of his eyes and a smile on his face and he wanted to listen to him talk about things that made him happy and how certain poems didn't deserve the fame they got.   
He wanted Jon to lie down and get some rest and he needed him to talk about what made him even more passive than he usually was.   
But Jon just looked out the window, absentmindedly stirring his tea and Martin remembered that they weren't friends. That Martin was simply the one to find him at a low and was apparently the only one who cared that he was only skin and bones.   
But they weren't friends.   
Jon didn't have friends.   
Right.   
And so Martin found himself staring at the window as well, but instead of watching the people pass or the birds in the sky, he looked at Jon's reflection. The way his eyebrows were knitted together and one hand covered his mouth, as if still in shock.

Maybe he was, Martin contemplated. Maybe he still couldn't believe that she had broken up with him.   
“Do you want to talk?”

Jon _flinched._ As if having forgotten that Martin was even there and Martin pretended it didn't break his heart a little.   
He blinked at him and straightened his glasses, then looked away again.   
“So how was GEORGE this morning?”   
Beat.   
“I- excuse me? George? The spider?” Was he missing something or did Jon really not make any sense. “I didn't keep my eyes out for him? Should I have?”   
Jon just shook his head and if possible sank in on himself even more and going back to looking outside again.

  
  


 

  
  


Jon had reached the institute early enough to arrive with his boss, which was so bad on so many levels. Jon had – up to this point – actually been sure that the other man lived at the institute.   
“Mr. Bouchard,” he said with a slight nod towards him.   
“Mr. Sims, is it? You're the newest addition to our team. Isn't it a little early for your shift?”   
Looking him in the eyes was surprisingly hard, looking anywhere else at his face was worse.   
The smile that his boss was presenting him reminded Jon of a shark and something in the back of his head screamed _too many teeth._ But he couldn't tell for sure.   
What he knew was that there was something immensely unsettling about the ever smiling man.

He was pleasant enough, Jon supposed. They barely ever talked for more than a moment, but whenever they did, he didn't regret it, but there _was_ something a little eerie about him.

But what else could be expected of _The Head Of The Institute?_ Sometimes Jon wondered if others thought the same about him. 'That Jonathan Sims fella is pretty weird, he definitely has something creepy about him, but what else can be expected of a _researcher for the Magnus Institute._ What a weirdo, right?'  
Was it a predisposition to get the job, or was it something that came with it? Chicken or egg? Off-putting aura or job at the institute, what came first?

Jon's mind flickered towards Martin and he had to prove himself wrong. There was no holistic connectedness. Elias and Jon just happened to both be fucking weird.

He held his unlit cigarette between his fingers, the other hand was still inside his jacket pocket, searching for a lighter.   
“Yes, I couldn't sleep anymore, so I decided to come early.” He had actually planned on telling a fancy lie, but apparently, his body was too tired to accept that plan.   
He felt Elias' eyes burn into him and watched him look at the bag, that was too big to have any reason to be taken to work. If he noticed, he didn't say anything. Then, Elias' heavy gaze went up to Jon's hand and Jas sure he saw discountenance in his eyes.  _Destroying yourself is a bad habit to have_ , he thought and somehow it didn't feel like his own thought at all,  
“Well, then I hope it will at least a productive few hours for you. It definitely is a good thing we hired you.” With that, he laughed and went inside.   
Jon was left standing there and decided he didn't feel like smoking after all. Instead, he felt a little nauseous.   
He had been meaning to quit anyway.

From then on, Jon felt like he was in a haze.   
His day shaped up to have a very obvious structure:

-work through his files  
-feel something crawl on him  
-go to the bathroom to check for GEORGE  
\- find nothing  
-go back to work   
-repeat  
  
And all of that in a thirty-minute tact. For anyone watching him, it must feel like he had a stomach bug.   
The sensation of small spindly legs all over his body was all consuming and Jon just couldn't get himself to concentrate on anything else, not until he almost ran into Martin and was made aware of the fact, that he had just spent another four hours since entering the institute without eating anything. He should probably feel bad, maybe weak and a little sick. Instead, though, he just felt ashamed to have been caught.

Ashamed enough to pretend to care about eating and tagging along, the feeling of _something_ crawling all over him everlasting and never leaving him.

They walked and somehow, Jon could swear there was a literal grip around his heart. He could swear someone was tugging on its strings, making it ache and feel oddly out of place.   
Jon had never lived through heartache before, but he hadn't imagined it to be such a literal sensation.   
He couldn't say he liked it all that much and despite liking to experience new thing, Jon had to admit that he could have done without that knowledge.   
Now he just felt physically sick and wanted to lie down.   
Before he knew it, his shoulder was almost touching Martin's and he didn't hate it.   
Their fingers brushed and Jon's breath hitched.   
The need to touch someone had never been a thing for him. He could to without touching. Actually, before he met Georgie, Jon couldn't remember to have so much as hugged anyone who wasn't his grandmother.

His parents, probably. But most days Jon didn't even know what they looked like. There were pictures but these people could be anyone.   
Some days he felt like he was letting them down, betraying them somehow.  
How dare he have forgotten their last day together. How dare he to have forgotten their faces. How dare he, not remembering any of the good times they had together?   
But that's how brains work. He forgot everything about the first four years of his life, but he remembered perfectly well how his grandmother picked him up from school and told them what had happened. The first time he understood what pain meant. What emotions really felt like. As if losing everything and being thrown into the cold harsh reality of the world somehow moved a switch on his brain.   
It was the first and only time he ever saw tears well up in her stony face.   
He couldn't remember if he cried. Probably. At least he hoped he did.

They didn't deserve to have died without their son crying for them.

“Do you want to talk?”   
Jon flinched and looked around himself, blinked up at Martin and realized in further shame that he had completely tuned out of the conversation.   
There was the feeling of _something crawling_ again and he decided that that was it. Fuck it. He had to know.   
“So how was GEORGE this morning?” But of course, Martin didn't give him much of anything to go by, no information he could work with. No normal person constantly kept their eyes out for spiders. No normal person saw a spider and suddenly felt them all over them or had regular nightmares about them.   
No normal person avoided looking at children's books.   
And so he decided that silence was better.   
“Thank you for the food and the tea,” he said quietly and decided that eating was a good distraction.

Martin just shook his head. “No need to thank me, that's what friends are for.”   
It didn't get lost on Jon that this was the third time in twelve hours that he said that. It didn't make him feel okay, but maybe a little less awful.   
And so he decided to put the cup down. “Then thank you for being my friend, Martin.”   
He only had to force the smile a little.

"Sorry for leaving so early," He said after his cup was empty and half the wrap was gone and Martin didn't even care anymore. "It's alright," and because he felt bold and pretty sure that Jon had nowhere else to stay, "maybe you want to stay for breakfast tomorrow?"  
Jon honestly smiled around his cup and nodded. "Actually, that does sound lovely."

 


	5. Family Feud

“There you are!” Jon felt Martin flinch next to him and looked up, just in time to watch Tim run up to them.  
“You two just disappeared on us. Sasha and I were worried you might have gotten lost in the library,” he gave them a body wiggle, that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else.  
“We were just grabbing something to eat,” Martin laughed and as Jon looked up at the other man, he saw such kindness in his eyes and before he knew it, there was a bitter taste in his throat. _Jealousy,_ a voice in the back of his head whispered at him, but that couldn't be it. Why would he be jealous? Would he like for Martin to look at him with such kindness? Sure. But did he have any right to demand it? Absolutely not.  
Instead, Jon allowed himself to enjoy the opportunity to fall into the background and ignore that he was theoretically still part of the conversation. He always preferred listening over talking anyway.

And how great at talking the two of them were, with Tim's gestures and Martin's smile, talking about this and that. Laughing and getting along and understanding when, which mannerisms were appropriate. Look at them being so good at social things.  
And Jon couldn't possibly try to keep up. Once or twice, he thought of a thing to throw into the conversation but before he could so much as open his mouth, they were already on a new topic and Jon had to think of something else.  
And so he decided that he wouldn't. As he had done most of the time since he started working for the institute.  
He waved the other two adieus at the door, gesturing, that he would need another cigarette. “Don't wait up for me. I'll just..” he waved with the cigarette that was stuck neatly between his fingers.  
And they left and he told himself, that he hadn't hoped for Martin to wait for him after all.

Jon lit the cigarette in anticipation, realizing that it would be his first of the day. He usually would have gone through half a pack by then, so that was odd.

Even odder was that the craving, as it usually was, didn't feel as bad. It actually felt quite alright.

The oddest part, however, was when he took the first drag, it tasted like shit. It was like burned coffee and he ended up coughing and coughing until tears were welling up in his eyes as if he had never smoked before.  
It was almost humiliating, as he stood there and coughed his own throat raw and for a moment he wondered how old the cigarette was. If maybe he had accidentally left an old pack with dry tobacco in his pocket. It was unlikely since he usually finished a pack in a day, but still more probable than suddenly forgetting how to smoke, Jon supposed and tried to ignore the way his stomach turned.  
He stubbed it out on the nearest wall and put it back into the pack. He only had two left anyway, so maybe being a little parsimonious wasn't that wrong.  
Jon sighed and shook his head. He couldn't even smoke right anymore.

Instead of allowing himself to enjoy a cigarette, Jon went back inside and continued his work, which was a disappointing turn. The feeling of legs crawling all over him subsided a little, as he told himself, that it was an impossibility for GEORGE to still cling on to him. GEORGE was gone, GEORGE must be somewhere back in Martin's flat.

Despite what his fear tried to tell him, Jon knew that spiders couldn't smell fear and that they didn't seek out those with the most hatred to them and even if. Jon was taller, bigger, stronger than a spider. He'd lose any fight against any human being, his long history of being bullied and the whole of his high school carrier was evidence enough for that, but he could handle a spider. He could squelch them, scrunch them, smite them.

He just had to make sure not to knock.

As he sat down, Martin came to him in a rush and gave him a list of things he needed to take care of. Apparently, Miss Robinson was back in the building and was chivying the whole researcher staff to be faster, more effective and get her the information she asks for.

From the desk behind him, Jon could hear how Tim kept muttering about Sisyphus work and “she could at least try to be a little respectful about it. We are people. She can't just waltz in here and expect us to treat her like royalty. What even does she do? She's just an archivist, it's not like the fate of the world lies on her shoulders.”  
Jon had to agree, that he would enjoy being treated with a little more consideration. It's not their fault the archival staff was lacking behind.  
On the other hand, though, Jon loved the work.  
He loved digging elbow deep into some horror story and finding out everything there was to refute it. It was the best distraction there was, as he worked himself through names and addresses and made various phone calls.  
Martin, however, seemed mostly out of his depths and exhausted, trying too hard to be polite and kind, while Jon was just concentrated on the information he needed. From the next table over, he could hear Martin flounder through social courtesies and he had to stop himself from laughing at it.  
  
“Hello, am I speaking to Miss... Miss Mena?”

“Oh, you married recently? Congratulations Mrs. Marcinkowo!”

“Yes, right, sorry. I'm Martin Blackwood, a researcher for the Magnus Insti- Oh no no please don't hang up I...”  
A frustrated sigh and the sound of the telephone being put down with a little too much force.  
Jon turned to look at him, surprised as he had doubted Martin was actually able to feel such things as anger.

He wanted to offer that they could take a break. That he'd pay for Martin's lunch, that he somehow had to repay him and show his gratitude. Or maybe ask, if Martin wanted to join him for a cigarette, anything to get out of the rush they were in just now. Jon wanted him to know that he also cared, even if he wasn't as good at showing it, but before Jon remembered how to use his mouth, Martin had already stood up and for a moment he wondered if he had talked without noticing.  
“Do you want a cup of tea, Jon? I need a break.”  
And Jon's words died on his tongue, instead, he just nodded. “Tea would be nice, thank you, Martin.”  
He would never tell Martin, that he actually disliked tea. It always seemed to fill him with a little happiness to provide for the team.

And so Martin stood up and left and Jon still didn't have his cigarette or a break or a chance to tell Martin he was grateful.  
What he did have, though, was a mountain of work and the sensation of _too many eyes_ burning into the back of his skull.

And so he went back to work. Because ignoring problems (and a possible psychotic break) was one of his greatest skills. He dug in deep and didn't even notice Martin coming back and leaving the sweet tea in front of him. He didn't notice Martin telling him to take a break every so often. He also didn't notice Martin's soft smile and shaking of his head in his direction. He definitely didn't notice Tim laughing to himself and saying something along the lines of Martin being hopeless and to just man up, already.  
Jon didn't notice anything.

  
“Mister Sims,” he was pulled out of his work trance and actually had to blink a few times to understand, that he was was spoken to. “Oh, Mister Bouchard?”  
That was... unusual to say the least.  
Usually, one would see the head of the institute once every couple of weeks, he was a cryptid in and of himself, so seeing him the second time that day, Jon rightfully wondered if he had fallen asleep at some point.  
He looked up at the other man and smiled politely. “Is everything alright?”  
“Yes, of course, I was just wondering if you could bear to help out with the artifacts, for a moment? A few people have called in sick and we are lacking behind.”  
The smile he was presented seemed off but Jon took it and nodded. He just needed work to do.

“Of course, Sir.” He nodded at him and stood up.

“Thank you, Mister Sims. Artifact Room C 003 is where you are needed the most. Just wait for Miss Rosa to come and tell you what to do, yes?”  
He nodded again, “Of course.”  
  
  


Jon had never been down to the artifacts, but he had heard enough bad things about it. Reportedly, those working down there had the most sick days and were prone to quit quite often. Jon allowed himself, to believe that it wasn't because they happened to – collectively – be the people with the worst health or work ethic. Jon didn't believe in the supernatural, but he did believe, that working in a basement with nothing but things that have apparently killed multiple people at some point could have a toll on your psychological well-being.

It took a moment of orientation to find the right room, the lower units seemed awfully intertwined and Jon had troubles navigating. Even worse than the architecture itself was the fact that the doors didn't seem to have an actual organization in how they are numbered. Of course, depending on the wing it was either A, B or C but then the numbering starts to vary. He went past C 001, fully expecting C 003 to come soon after but... no. The next door was to room C 007 and Jon started to doubt his own eyes and wondered if he needed new glasses.

It felt like he was wandering around for far longer than he really should, considering that there were only nine rooms in the C-wing until he found the damn room C 003.

When he finally did, though, he felt dizzy and light headed. Like he had been walking for too long. His legs hurt too and his feet felt sore. But looking at his clock, it had only been five minutes since he talked to Mister Bouchard.  
Jon took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart. Apparently, the theory of a psychotic break wasn't that unreasonable anymore. Maybe he should worry about an appointment with another doctor first, before handling the problem of his worsening eyesight.

Jon knocked on the door and waited. He knocked again, then entered quickly, guessing that the doors were too thick to hear him.  
“Miss Rosa? It's Jonathan from researching? Mister Bouchard sent me down here to...”  
Sitting in front of him was not Miss Rosa from the Artefact room.  
Miss Rosa wasn't too big to be natural, Miss Rosa didn't have four unblinking eyes, Miss Rosa didn't have eight limbs and Miss Rosa didn't have chelicerae.  
Sitting in front of him was a spider.  
A huge, big, black, hairy spider in the middle of a web that seemed to take up most of the space in the room.  
“Well, you aren't Miss Rosa, are you now,” Jon tried to stay calm and actually laughed at the absurdity of the situation, accepting fully that he was losing his mind. That he was insane. That Georgie breaking up with him was just the last push he needed to lose it.  
His laugh, though, quickly disintegrated into heavy breathing and hyperventilation.  
He knew. Jon _knew_ this was impossible. Of course, Of course, there was no giant spider in front of him. No one would have let a spider live in this room long enough to spin a web that giant, that monstrous. It would be big enough to catch animals in it.

In his breathless panic, Jon's mind came up with the image of Miss Rosa caught in the web, poisoned, stunned and paralyzed. Slowly liquefied and digested.  
Jon just stared and didn't move, except for the unrelenting shaking, he knew he was overreacting but he saw the door and he _had knocked._ God, he had knocked.  
“So,” he exhaled and tried to calm himself down, but he felt sweat soak through the back of his shirt and breathing still hurt, “Mister Spider.” His breath seemed to become even quicker and the lightheadedness from before overcame him again, his knees almost giving in beneath him as he swayed from side to side in his blind panic.

“Or was that your father? Do you prefer going by GEORGE?”  
It was the same spider, there was no doubt in it. He knew it. He knew that this spider was GEORGE. It had the same odd hatred in its eyes, those unblinking black eyes as deep as a void, filled with emotions a spider should not possibly be able to convey or know or have awareness of. But GEORGE did, Jon knew.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My search history is now filled with spider facts.  
> I very much share Jon's fear and hate the fact that I just spent a whole day reading up on spiders and looking at close-ups of them.  
> At least, I now know the difference between web-weaving and hunting spiders. It's the number of eyes.  
> GEORGE is a web-weaving spider, you can do with that information whatever you want.
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr at miister-jacobi.tumblr.com, and shout at me, if you'd like.  
> 


	6. This Week Is A Shitshow

“Martin?”  
“Martin.”  
“Jesus Christ, Blackwood come back to earth.”  
Martin flinched at suddenly being poked in the stomach. “What..?”  
He blinked up at Tim, who was looking right back at him with raised eyebrows and an almost degrading smile. As well as they got along now, Martin was convinced that in high school, Tim would have been the kind of person to bully him.

“What are you thinking about? You seemed a little lost, just now.”  
Martin exhaled and shrugged up at him. “Just... Jon's been down there for a while now, hasn't he?”  
Martin had been thinking about Jon, he had been contemplating how to approach him and how to keep the mood light in the coming evening. He had been wondering about what to eat and scolding himself for getting overly excited, considering Jon wasn't really staying because he wanted to, but because there was no other choice. Martin just rarely ever had something resembling a guest and Jon was as good as anyone else to keep out the lonely, he told himself.

And then his thoughts had drifted into darker territory.

Was Jon okay? He had been talking about poetry and spiders, but with no word had he so much as mentioned his ex again. Did he just not care? Or was he the kind of person to swallow it all? Should Martin give him space or a shoulder to cry on?   
Why did they break up? Would it be very rude to ask? Martin just really wanted to know. Had it been a happy relationship? Did Jon miss her? Had they been together for a long time?

\---- Was he only interested in women?  
He looked over at Jon's abandoned table and the now cold mug, wishing he could shout all these questions at it and get an answer. He highly doubted that this was possible, though.

“Oh, so you're worried about him now? I can't shake the feeling, that we missed some sort of bonding moment? Sasha and I feel left out. Up to today, Jon didn't so much as talk to you outside of the coworker platitudes one is legally obliged to exchange. And suddenly you come here and have lunch dates?” Tim laughed and slapped Martin's shoulder. “But of course he couldn't resist you for long, you're too sweet.” His voice sounded fond and endeared, which caught Martin off guard, he'd expect Tim to keep making fun of him and not sound so sincere when complimenting him.   
“Tim. I just... well the Artifacts are... creepy, right? They are weird. I hate being down there for so much as a minute and Elias has him down there for what? Two hours now?” Martin didn't know what else to say, so he just ignored this glimmer of friendly honesty.  
“Martin, I'm pretty sure Jon is pigheaded enough to look an eldritch horror in the eyes and ignore its existence still. That kid came here with his mind set on denying the supernatural and puts no effort into hiding it. If someone can stay there for an extended period of time without losing his mind, it's him. Actually, if you ask me, he probably likes it down there. It's old, cold, dusty, lots of things to read, and most importantly – no one to bother him. He's gotta be fucking delighted.”  
“You're a bit of an asshole, you know that, right?”  
“So I've been told.”

Jon was not typically an anxious person, or so he thought. He might be easily scared, but he could hold himself in stressful situations, at least he told himself so.   
He used to spend a good amount of time before presentations talking to himself and pointing at a mirror, telling himself, that he can do this. He is strong. He is capable of this. No burden has been too heavy, no hurdle too big, so far. Usually, he'd stand in front of something that seemed impossible to go through and manage anyway.   
He'd stand up again, he'd keep fighting.   
And things usually turned out well for him. He had come this far, right?

That's not saying he spent most of his time not scared. Jon knew he wasn't a brave person. Courage was a virtue to some and an alien concept t him.   
But usually things would work out, so why not now? Logic prevails, so why not now. Panic never overcame him like this, so why now? He could usually find his way out of this downward spiral of fear and anxiety with rationality. What's the worst that could happen? How likely is that? How possible is that outcome? Is it just your imagination?   
Usually, it worked, so why not now?  
“Why not now?” he asked himself, asked the spider, asked the woman he should meet that never did show up, asked the walls and asked the eyes he felt in his neck.   
He stared at GEORGE and didn't dare to blink. “Go away,” he heard himself whisper.   
“Please, go away.”   
His hands were shaking, his knees felt weak and he suddenly realized that he wouldn't be able to stay conscious for much longer. It felt like all oxygen was sucked out of the room.   
C 003, who would have guessed the place he'd die would be inside his workplace.   
Maybe he should have guessed, or even anticipated, expected it.   
But he didn't and now he felt like a damn fool.   
“Please.” Jon took a deep breath and to his shame and to admit, that his breath hitched, that it got stuck in his throat and instead of an exhale, it was a _sob,_ that left his mouth.   
Jonathan Sims, 24 years old, cries because there's an itsy bitsy spider.   
Jonathan Sims, 24 years old, professional disappointment.  
He tried to concentrate on his breathing, his eyes wouldn't close, they had to stay on GEORGE, but he forced himself to try and relax, to take deeper breaths and keep breathing out all the while repeating his mantra of _Don't panic. Breathe. Don't panic. Breathe. You're alright. This is just a spider._  
He calmed down enough for the shaking of his hands to cease and for him to be able to concentrate just a little better. The web, now that he looked at it again, didn't seem as big and as menacing as it had before. Where he had previously sworn that the web was the width of the whole back wall of the room, it now appeared to only be spun between two shelves.   
The spider, however, kept looking at him with its calculating black eyes. And suddenly it started to move and it came closer. Leg after leg after leg after leg after leg after leg after leg...

Jon didn't know how long he had been staring, but before he knew it, the spider was on the floor in front of him. He could just smash it. Just kill it, he told himself. It was an option, don't wait for back up and just kill the horror yourself. Don't wait for others to save you. Don't sell your soul. Kill the monster now.  
But he didn't, he just kept staring at the monstrous thing in front of him. With its big black bulbous body and it stared back.   
GEORGE came closer ever so much closer before it was sitting on Jon's shoe and kept crawling upwards and Jon couldn't move.   
Jon just couldn't move as its spindly legs kept pushing up up up. As it left his shoe and went onto the leg of his trousers. The spider shouldn't be so heavy, he thought, he shouldn't be able to feel its weight so clearly. The spider also shouldn't feel so hot, that it almost burned his leg where it rested for more than a few seconds. It crawled slowly, so very very slowly, it felt almost hypnotizing, to his unblinking eyes and hitching breath.  
He didn't know how much time passed, but his ears started to ring and his eyes to sting, as his breathing slowed down and down and down, until he barely knew if he was breathing at all.  
 _Just kill it_ , something inside him whispered, but he was unable to move and somehow he was all out of energy to panic. The Spider was there, crawling beneath his shirt, burning his skin and leaving its mark, but Jon couldn't breathe and what was the point in panic?   
It reappeared out of his sleeve and sat on his hand, just waiting. And Jon knew it wanted to be on eye level with him. To communicate from the same perspective and so he held it up as if the idea of a spider sitting anywhere on him wasn't repulsive enough for him to want to scrub his whole body clean.  
As he looked at it, his vision softening around the edges, as his lungs came to their exhaustion, he felt like it looked back at him with sympathy. It blinked at him and.... nodded?  
If spiders even were capable of so much as nodding.   
Jon blinked and took a deep, hurried breath, as the room suddenly seemed to fill with oxygen once more, his lungs felt strained and his cheeks wet from tears. He felt sweaty and found, that he was sunken in on himself, leaning against the wall and there was no web. No spider, no _GEORGE._  
Only a woman, older than him, but gracefully so. And she smiled and nodded.   
“Thank you, Jonathan,” she said, her smile strained and cold and so very dishonest. “You were of great help. The spiders seem less opposed to an alliance, now.” Jon didn't know how he knew, but deep down in his core, he was sure this woman was the most dangerous being he had ever encountered. The woman laughed, a sweet laugh that didn't seem to fit quite right, making Jon want to press his hands against his ears and scream right back at her.

_'You're not Miss Rosa',_ he wanted to say, but instead, he just listened to her and wished the spider was back in her stead. At least his fear of the spider made sense.  
“No, I am not the one you were waiting for.” She sounded so very sophisticated and sober, Jon felt a little reminded of his grandmother at the worst of times. “The name is Gertrude Robinson. I must admit, I didn't think you would actually be that helpful. You seemed pretty useless when I looked into you. I guessed you'd be overrun by fear and kill that thing. I was hoping on it, to be honest. I don't much care for the web and don't know why Elias even insisted on trying out this alliance. You were simply our middle ground so he would stop nagging.”  
“I don't understand...?” Jon felt weak, his head hurt and the glaring LEDs overhead didn't help one bit. The flickering and flackering of the lights engulfed the room and filled it up. It was too loud for a single one of Gertrude's words to permeate.  
“Don't worry, I'm just keeping your mind a little busy. Elias will make you forget in a moment.”  
Jon was stupefied, trying and failing miserably to make sense of the situation and whatever it was she was trying to convey. He came to no conclusion, however hard he tried to concentrate and grasp at the information he was being presented, every time it felt like he could reach and grab one of the strings of words she was spilling and take it in and _understand,_ someone else was quicker and he lost hold once more.   
A stranger's hand reaching inside his head and smashing everything inside however they please and however formed and shaped his head would be of the most use.   
Jon could feel it. The fingers digging in, rummaging through his memories and toying with them, calculating what would be the most productive version of him. And the saddest part of this was, that he was too exhausted, too tired and too weak to do anything about it. There was no fighting back, his brain didn't even have the time to put on a defense.   
Jon wanted to laugh, he wasn't even scared.

This really was a shit week so far.

  
  


“You look exhausted,” Martin chuckled when Jon finally found his place at his own table again. His hair was tousled and he looked like a right mess, a little sweaty and with eye bags even deeper than before. Poor Jon must have been forced to do the heavy lifting down there. Martin just wondered why on earth Elias thought Jon of all people in the office was the right man for that job. He was scrawny and weak. Most days he looked like he could barely carry his own weight.   
Why not ask Tim, who was obviously in good shape, or Martin who was definitely able to lift.  
“Do I now? Martin, what do you and your perceptive eyes think, why that might be? I will give you a hint,” the whole act would have had more bite if Jon wasn't slumped in on himself, his head buried in his folded arms on top of the table. “Perhaps I look exhausted because I very much am.”  
He sighed and slowly straightened his back. “Really, one would think I'm a little overqualified to just be sent down there like I'm some disposable overpaid workforce on a slow day. Anyway, how was it up here? The whole office had been running wild when I had been sent down to wait patiently for Miss Rosa and stare at blank walls and unintelligible notes lying around. While waiting for twenty minutes.”

“Uhm it was, well it was okay. A little stressful but otherwise it was good. We got a lot done. Tim and Sasha and me, I mean. Not that... you know, not that you _are_ disposable as you just insinuated, it would have been easier with you here, of course.” Martin stumbled over his own tongue and wanted to rip it out.   
He gave Jon a half-hearted smile, before returning to his work and out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Jon do the same.  
After about five minutes of listening to the rustling sounds of papers coming from Jon's table and seeing him take a sip from the cold and sale tea, Martin had put there hours ago, he couldn't even pretend to concentrate on his work anymore. Instead, he put his pen down, took a deep breath and leaned back.   
"The shift is over soon, do you want to grab something to eat on the way back?" Home. He wanted to say home, but it was out of place when referencing to the place Jon would stay for only some days at most, probably just this couple of nights. Was it wrong to offer him to just move in? And was he actually that pathetic and lonely?   
Martin decided that  _yes_ was the answer to both questions.   
"Actually, I think I will stay a little longer," Jon gave him a weak smile. "You can just text me your address if that offer still stands?"  
"What? Of course, it does. But..."   
Jon just raised an eyebrow in question.   
"I don't actually have your number?"   
The awkward silence that followed was almost sickening. It was something so simple but such an obvious reminder, that Jon and he weren't friends. They were nothing but coworkers and they crossed a line into unknown territory and unprofessionalism.   
  


 


	7. If Home Is Where The Heart Is, Then I'm Still Homeless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So maybe I was sad and craving fluff. Whoopdie Do, I'm still sad, but at least these boys aren't.

“You will not believe what I just saw.”  
Sasha almost jumped out of her skin, when two familiar hands suddenly grabbed her shoulders from behind.  
“Jesus!” She turned around and slapped the man with the first piece of clutter she could grab from her table. “You scared me, Tim.”  
He just threw his head back as he laughed at her and her unreasonable fear.  
“Relax, it's just me.” He choked out through his laughter and soon she joined him.  
It was just one of the many things she appreciated about him. You couldn't listen to him laugh without wanting to do so yourself.  
He had one of these awful laughs that you couldn't help but adore. He sounded a little like he was suffocating, gasping for air in between sobs. It sounded ridiculous, but it was just so very much like him and she wouldn't have it any other way.

After a moment, they finally caught themselves again and Sasha gave up on trying to be productive, instead, she turned around completely and looked Tim up and down. He towered over her but the goofy smile on his face took any and all intimidation out of his form.  
“Okay, do tell, what did you just witness, that couldn't wait until after work?” She returned the grin and reached for her tea.  
She scrunched up her face in distaste when she realized it had gone cold already and for a moment wondered, how Jon did it, he always seemed to forget about his cup until you had to reheat it and yet he never did leave his table to do so. Always suffering through the cold tea. Disgusting little man.

“You know Jonathan Sims?”  
Sasha frowned up at Tim and put the tea down. “Jonathan Sims? The guy that's been working with us for half a year now? Tall, skinny, kind of goofy looking?”  
“Yes, that one.”  
“Never heard of him.”

“Great. Not much to know about him.” Sasha rolled her eyes at the passive aggression in his voice. He obviously wasn't exactly Jon's biggest fan.  
“Anyway, he's pretty anti-social, right?”  
“Yes, I suppose that's right. He doesn't much like talking to... anyone about anything.”  
Tim nodded. “Exactly! Now picture my surprise over what I just ran into!”  
He looked like a mixture of excitement, being rattled and completely disturbed.  
“What... did you run into?” Sasha asked carefully, fearing that she didn't want to know what he was talking about.  
“You know how our dear sweet Martin has this incredibly stupid and pointless and all in all entirely absurd crush on this man?”  
Sasha nodded slowly, not liking at all where this was going. “I might have noticed it before, if only because you've been complaining about for as long as Jon has been working here.”  
It would almost be cute, Sasha had thought to herself more than once, how Tim 'I could have anyone I want' was pining after Martin, constantly looking after him and playfully hitting on him, making Martin blush and laugh. It was adorable, really, if only Martin hadn't decided to overlook Tim completely and instead chose Jonathan 'please don't talk to me' Sims as his object of affection.  
Tim took it with grace, really. But it was a constellation that promised nothing but pain for all parties involved.  
“Yes, he finally made a move.”

“He what?”

“They were just exchanging numbers AND they were on a lunch date today. They... I'm pretty sure they're dating!”  
“You sound... excited?” Sasha had to admit, the excitement wasn't the mood she had expected from this news. Not that she had thought that this news was a possibility at all. She had never thought Martin would make a move, much less that Jon would react kindly to it.  
“Well I mean... sucks to be me. But Martin actually looked happy when Jon gave him his number. And to be honest I didn't even know the man had a phone.”  
Sasha shook her head in disbelief. “You are one of a kind, you know Timothy Stoker.” The affection in her voice was evident. “I don't think I know another person that would react like that”

“What can I say,” Tim shrugged and gave his best to seem nonchalant, Sasha heard the sadness and disappointment, though, “I just like seeing him happy.”  
  
  


  
  


Jon kept working for another hour and a half before he finally heard his stomach scream at him for something that was more than a sandwich and cold tea. He closed his laptop with a sigh and collected his files, deciding that he would continue this at ho- At Martin's place.  
No home for him, right.

No Georgie and no Admiral. No coming home to bad eighties pop music and Georgie having drunk a glass of wine or two, dancing around the living room, grabbing his hands to dance with him.  
No lazy evening watching TV and hearing the Admiral purr next to them.  
No waking up to her.  
Nothing.  
No more.  
He sat back down and wished he could just stay seated where he was, keep his mind occupied, but his stomach growled once more, so Jon stood up with a sigh of annoyance and reached for his phone.  
He had three notifications.  
  
The first one was from an unknown number, containing an address and a 'This is Martin, by the way' Jon used his outstanding deduction abilities to come to the conclusion, that this might be Martin, even though it sounded so much more composed and calm than anything Jon had heard Martin say before. Perhaps he was better at texting than talking?  
  
_I'm coming. Hungry? Will get some takeout on the way._

He decided, the least he could do was to offer some food if he was already taking up space in Martin's living quarters.  
He looked at the next notifications and realized to his utmost displeasure, it was Georgie. A missed call and a text message.  
  
_Hey, are you alright? I didn't mean to throw you out. You can stay if you don't have a place to sleep. We're good, right?_  
  
She worries. Even now, she worries. Even though Jon was anything but good to her, even though he had never succeeded at playing the part of a boyfriend. He found himself smiling down at the phone, his heart dropping with pain at his loss. His own damn fault, he told himself. His own god damn fault.

_If you mean it, I would appreciate if I could come back. Just for a few days, so I can look for my own pla--_

He deleted it.  
No.  
He wouldn't burden her with his... existence any longer. She deserved better.

_It's alright, don't you worry! I'm staying with a coworker. We both know we need the space right now, but thank you for the offer.  
I love you._

He almost hit sent without noticing and cursed under his breath. Delete.  
  
_Staying with a friend. Thanks, though._

This one was anything but personal, but at least save.  
Just as he wanted to put his phone away and get going, he received another message.

_I'm craaaving chinese. I don't care what, but I'd be thankful if you brought some!_

This actually made Jon almost smile. He didn't know what he had expected of Martin's texting skills, but that was more like it.

It took Jon a bit of orientating and searching around and googling the address until he arrived at Martin's place, but sure enough, an hour later he had found it and stood in front of the door with two bags of still hot Chinese takeout

He rang the bell once and Martin answered instantly, “Who's there”  
“Yes, hello sir. You ordered takeout?”  
Martin opened the door and smiled at Jon. “Thank you for the food, I forgot to go to the supermarket.”  
“No problem, I was just as hungry.”  
This felt odd. More than just odd, it felt completely insane. Jon coming to Martin's flat and bringing him food? Sleeping at his place? He felt entirely out of his depth.  
“What do I owe you?”  
“Nothing, Jesus Martin. This is the least I can do to repay your kindness.”

Martin stopped in his tracks and blushed heavily, from what Jon could see standing behind him. It was something Jon had noticed early in their time working together. Martin was a full body blusher, and it happened often, there didn't have to be much reason for it. It never failed to amuse him.  
“Anyone would have-”  
“No Martin. Not anyone would have done this. But you would have done this for anyone and that's... well it's very remarkable.“ You are remarkable, he wanted to say but didn't dare to.

“Wanna... uhm wanna watch something while we eat?”  
Jon's heart ached a little at the familiarity of the situation, of how normal this felt. How he could pretend Martin was Georgie. Then he scolded himself, both of them deserved better than to be mixed into something they weren't.  
“Sure”  
“Anything in particular?”  
“You can decide, I'm not really...” He made a general hand gesture towards the TV as if this would explain anything.  
“You don't... watch TV?”  
“Not actively?” Of course, he could appreciate a good movie or show every once in a while but he found it too numbing, hated the feeling of watching too long and having time pass by without him noticing. He liked it in the background, having voices to make him feel like he wasn't alone when Georgie wasn't home, but other than that... no. He didn't watch TV.  
“I save the money for the TV card.” He shrugged as if that helped.  
“You are so odd,” It was nothing Jon hadn't heard before, but never with so much affection.  
“Thank you, I do have an image to uphold.” He started unpacking their food and put it on the table, as Martin found them something nice to watch. He decided on some nice and quick-witted comedy, guessing Jon could actually appreciate smart humor.  
  
And maybe he wanted to hear Jon's laugh.  
Apparently, though, Jon wasn't someone who laughed out loud at comedy, he did, however, shake his head and smile at it. Let out a small breathy sound, that Martin would almost call adorable if it was his place to do so.  
  
“So what did you do today? Was it as bad as they say?”  
“Oh I... it was alright, I guess. I mead the head archivist. So that was interesting.” Jon shrugged and finished his plate.

“You met The Gertrude Robinson?”  
“Yes, actually.”  
Martin gasped, stars in his eyes as if Jon had just informed him about his magical meeting with nonother than Music Legend David Bowie or first contact with an alien. He looked up at him as if the topic was something remarkable, something extraordinary.  
“How was it?” he asked and sounded so much more excited than he should. It was almost adorable, Jon thought to himself and almost instantly wanted to scold himself for that kind of thinking.  
“It was... interesting, she reminds me of my grandmother,” he answered and reached for his cigarettes. “Is it okay if I smoke in here?”  
Martin hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”  
Jon suspected it wasn't and this was probably the first time Martin had been confronted with this question at all. He wouldn't ask a second time though, not wanting to step outside into the cold London air just for a smoke.  
“So... your grandmother. That sounds sweet. I'm relieved she's a lovely lady then.” Martin stood up to get an ashtray for Jon and instead returned with a glass bowl. “Sorry, I don't smoke and never got around to buy one.”  
Jon simply shrugged, it would suffice and he wouldn't complain.  
“I think you've got the wrong idea of what my grandmother is like,” he said instead, a light chuckle in his voice.  
“Oh, why is that?”  
“She's a heinous bitch, Martin.”

Martin almost choked on his food as he looked up at Jon, who joyously sucked on his cigarette.  
Jon was almost surprised he didn't burn his lungs again but was relieved enough, he had started to really crave it again, once he had stepped outside the institute. This felt so good, he closed his eyes for a second and just let the smoke fill his lungs.  
Martin found it a little rude and uncalled for that he looked so ecstatic on the sofa right next to him. He also had trouble understanding how Jon could say that about his grandmother. Sure, Martin's mother wasn't the best but he would never dare to talk about her like that.  
That might just be him though.  
“Thanks for the warning, I'll keep that in mind if I ever have to interact with her.” He said instead and actually laughed a little.  
As he looked up again, Jon was smiling around the cigarette between his lips. “Anytime, Martin.”  
Jon's phone rang and as they both looked at it, the screen read Georgie and considering the way Jon's face fell, that was not a good thing at all.  
“Your ex?”  
“Yes.” he sounded quieter than he had since Martin had found him the evening before. He sounded so full of regrets.  
“You don't want to answer?”  
“Absolutely not.”  
Martin nodded and took the phone. Before he knew what he was doing, he had turned it off. “Alright. Take your time with that.”  
Jon just looked at him in disbelief, before starting to laugh. “Oh, she's gonna go insane with worry.” But he didn't protest the turned-off phone, he just kept laughing and Martin found he had a new favorite sound.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They were watching Brooklyn 99, sorry I don't make the rules.


	8. It's okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, if you come back to this update, please make sure that you read the previous chapter. I just updated two days in a row, so you might have missed the last one!

When Jon woke up from a sleep he hadn't noticed himself slipping off into, it was to warmth and an unfamiliar weight on top of him. He looked around but couldn't for the life of him figure out where he was or how he had gotten there or what on earth was holding onto him. If he didn't know any better, he'd say it was fingers, that he felt digging into his side.   
He searched for his phone around him, but where his side table should be, he only found empty space, his hand landing in a wide field of nothing, only hitting a table that felt nothing like his much further away than it should be. Slowly, he remembered, that he was staying at Martin's place, so of course, it would feel unfamiliar, the lack of orientation was still anything but comfortable. It also didn't help, that it was pitch-dark. He figured it must be the middle of the night considering how dark the room was and he knew neither of them had bothered to close the blinds.  
The weight on top of him moved and let out a quiet huff and slightly annoyed groan as if protesting that Jon would move any further.  
And it hit Jon, that _he didn't remember falling asleep._ Which meant he also couldn't remember Martin leaving for his bed, or the evening finding an ending at all. 

On the contrary, Martin had at some point put on a movie that he was obviously invested in, excited about everything that was happening. Jon had guessed he could humor him a little and watch with him, considering he was living with the man for free but against all odds found himself enjoying the film as well. Martin hadn't even minded that Jon was the kind of person to point out mistakes in cutting or continuity. He just accepted Jon's constant nagging and even laughed about it, which only encouraged Jon.  
It had felt as if Martin actually seemed to like that (to be fair, very annoying) habit of his, which really didn't happen often.  
As they had watched the movie, they had slowly settled into each other, both exhausted from the day and... fallen asleep on top of one another.

As the realization hit him, Jon's breath hitched. Now, in the darkness and silence of the night, Jon could hear Martin's soft breathing, low and slow and quiet and calm.  
He felt Martin's chest rise and sink and where his head was placed on Jon's shoulder, he could feel Martin's breath in warm and wet against the exposed skin on his neck.  
The weight on his chest, Jon noticed, was Martin's arm holding him in place.  
He didn't know why, but he didn't feel annoyed, maybe a little embarrassed and helpless, but mostly Jon felt a fondness for the other man. A man who didn't owe him anything and had no reason at all to think positively about Jon, who didn't even know him. And yet, when Jon needed a helping hand, anyone, to reach out and make an unbearable and unimaginable situation easier on him, Martin was there. Martin held on to him. It was Martin that gave him a place to sleep and the feeling that things could be okay. That he wasn't as monstrous as he thought.  
He didn't think about it, didn't even mean to do it, but sure enough, Jon's hand found Martin's head and he slowly started petting his hair. He leaned further into the embrace and smiled, as Martin's lips graced his neck accidentally.  
The situation made him calmer than he had ever anticipated and before he knew it, his eyes slipped closed again, his head sinking against Martin's and he fell asleep once again.  
It was uncomfortable and his back would complain for the rest of the day, but for now, Jon allowed himself this bit of tenderness, this little moment of calm and the ostensible idea of friendship.  
Tomorrow they would both wake up, he knew, embarrassed and awkward. Jon would take over the role of someone who minded being held, who hated being drooled on and fight off any indication, that being embraced like this was something he had been craving and needing. And from tomorrow on, he would make sure, that they wouldn't fall asleep together again.  
He had to, otherwise, he knew his heart would get attached and by god, he really couldn't burden Martin with that. But it was a problem for tomorrow-Jon.  For now, he allowed himself this beautiful lie and slipped off into another bout of sleep.  
  
  


 

The next time Jon woke up, it was to the smell of breakfast being served.  
At some point, Jon had lied down, taking up most of the space on the sofa. He had to force himself not to feel disappointed, that Martin had woken up first. Jon would just pretend it hadn't happened, just like Martin would. As far as Martin knew, Jon had slept through the night, and really, how should Jon explain why he hadn't pushed him away and instead settled into him.  
Jon blinked his eyes open and realized, that even though he hadn't bothered to take his glasses off the night before, they were most definitely not on his nose, so the first thing he did was to search for those around him, hoping they hadn't fallen down and he didn't lie on top of them.  
Instead, he found them on the table next to the sofa.  
“Oh, sorry. I took those glasses off for you when you fell asleep. I figured you wouldn't want them to get bent on accident," came an almost-shout from the kitchen. Jon wanted to laugh at that lie but caught himself. Martin had probably awoken that morning, completely embarrassed and then noticed the glasses still sitting in his face.  
“Thank you, Martin. That was thoughtful of you.”

He stretched and felt his back protest, cracking in at least five different places.  
“Ah, sorry my sofa isn't really the most comfortable, I know,” Martin laughed awkwardly and finally came into Jon's line of vision.  
“It's better than the institute, so thank you, Martin.” Jon smiled at him. For a moment, there was a look on Martin's face, which he couldn't quite fathom, all wide-eyed and open-mouthed.  
Jon held his gaze for a second, before turning away and trying to straighten his hair, which was in and of itself an act.  
“Uhm-” Martin started stammering, the look still evident n his face, “I, uh, I made... breakfast. Yes right. I made breakfast, are you hungry? We've got fried eggs? Or I can scramble them if you want. Or do you prefer porridge? Fruits?”  
Now it was Jon's turn to look up at Martin with wide eyes, he had almost forgotten how very good Martin was at rambling and talking nonstop when he was embarrassed.  
“Or.. do you... not eat breakfast?” Martin came to a slow stop as he saw the look on Jon's face, probably catching himself from continuing.  
“I can also just make tea if you want.”  
“Tea would be lovely,” Jon nodded slowly, not sure what else to say or do. The weight of the situation of the previous night hit him suddenly. Of course, Martin was embarrassed. They had been _cuddling._ It hadn't even just been Martin hugging him, it had been both of them leaning against one another, holding onto one another.  
Jon felt himself blush and quickly looked away. It must have been the exhaustion of the previous day, surely. Jon wasn't one to cuddle with almost strangers and yet this had happened.  
“Uhm...” now it was his turn to stutter, “may I take a shower?” He swallowed hard and looked away, not daring to meet Martin's eyes, out of fear the other man would just know that it hadn't been subconscious on his part, that he hadn't just started holding onto Martin in his sleep, but while awake. He feared it would ruin whatever frail and brittle little bond they were starting to form. He feared it would end up making him look like he was taking advantage of a situation.  
He had been taking advantage of the situation.  
Jon had to find his own place to stay as soon as possible.  
“Yes, sure. Of course. It's down the hallway and the first door on the left side,” Martin pointed into the general direction. “Wait a moment and I'll bring you a towel.”  
Jon nodded and waited patiently, nervousness slowly but surely catching up with him and settling deep and heavy inside his stomach.  
As he waited, he turned his phone back on and found another missed call and text from Georgie.

 _I'm guessing you don't want to talk to me. That's okay, I know how you get. Tell me if you need more of your stuff and I'll clear the flat for you._  
Just tell me when we can talk again, without it being weird.  
You're still my best friend.

Jon's heart dropped and he wanted to answer instantly, that she was his best friend too, that he didn't want to avoid her, that he loved her, that he wanted another chance, that he could, that he WOULD be better. For her.  
But instead, he put the phone away and took the towel from Martin. “Thank you.”  
A look at the clock meant he had about forty minutes to get ready before they had to leave for work.

He went into the bathroom, locked it behind himself and put the towels down. He gave himself a good look in the mirror and let out a long sigh. His hair was tousled and there was still an imprint from the sofa's fabric pressing into Jon's cheek. He closed his eyes just for a second and felt Martin's head on his shoulder again, his soft breath against his skin. The short second in which they had shifted and Martin's lips touched his neck.  
Jon's breath hitched as the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach came back and he felt like suffocating, not knowing where this emotion was coming from.  
Why he didn't despise being touched by the other man like this.  
Jon let his own fingertips ghost over the spots on his neck and kept his eyes closed, just a second longer, before pulling away and starting to undress.  
He realized that he did very much not smell good. The distant smell of cold sweat had manifested as he had worked downstairs. It was embarrassing to imagine that he had smelled like this for the whole rest of the day and Martin hadn't dared to say anything. It seemed that lately, all he could do was humiliating and full of reasons for regrets.  
Jon couldn't wait for the next quiet night to come and the memories to haunt him until the sun would shine again.  
Standing beneath the shower _,_ however, was calming beyond anything he could imagine. It was cathartic, almost. As the hot water washed away the sweat and worries and all the negative feelings. The knots in the pit of his stomach seemed to loosen up a little and finally, air seemed to fill his lungs again.  
  
  


“It's okay,” he whispered to himself and took a deep breath. He hoped Martin wouldn't hear him and call him insane. But somehow he needed someone to tell him that everything would be alright, that he just had to breathe. And by god, if no one else would do it, he had to do it himself.  
“It's okay,” he repeated and thought of Georgie and how he had made her cry and how this was his fault. “It's okay.” He concentrated on his breathing and willed the bad thoughts away. Another time, another place. It was almost laughable, the idea of having a break down in another person's bathroom.  
So instead he stepped out, having successfully postponed the inevitable disintegration of his mind.  
For the time being, he would be alright. And for the time being, Jon would ignore anything that had happened with Martin. They would be alright.  
He got dressed and for the first time in two days felt like himself.  
He stepped outside and found Martin eating his breakfast and an extra cup of tea next to him.  
“Sorry for overwhelming you with my questions earlier,” Martin choked out a chuckle but wouldn't meet his eyes. Jon just shook his head.

“Don't worry.” He signed at the cup of tea as if to ask 'for me?' And Martin nodded in return, pulling his plate a little closer as if Jon needed more space on the table, and Jon sat down. “Thank you.

“No need, Jon. Anyone-”

Jon just gave him a look that obviously said 'we have been over this' and made Martin look away with a light blush on his cheeks.  
“I appreciate it, Martin.”

Their eyes met and Martin smiled at him sheepishly. Not for the first time, Jon wondered if anyone had ever actually told Martin, that they were thankful, or if people just took him for granted.  
“Really, you are...” Jon wished he was better with words and could successfully convey his thoughts. But he wasn't, he was lame and a little emotionally crippled and incapable of talking about non-factual matters. “You are a very kind person.”

The smile Martin gave him was worth everything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I was sad, so I wrote fluff" might just lead to this fic being updated on a daily basis now lmao.  
> Come shout at me on tumblr, I'm miister-jacobi and always happy to hear from you!


	9. Trust Me, I'm A Professional In Self Sabotage

“You look awful,” Sasha put her bag down next to one of the chairs in the break room before starting to work on her breakfast and ruffled through Tim's hair. “No sleep?” It was rare to see Tim look anything but his best usually he looked impeccable.

“Very nice to see you too. You look lovely, by the way,” he rubbed his eyes, stifling a yawn and reached for his coffee like a lifeline. "Three hours." 

“Oh I'm sorry to hear,” she had worried that the news about Martin and Jon would drag him down. She put a hand on Tim's shoulder, but any compassion was gone the second she saw the smug look on his face.

“Oh no need to be sorry, Sasha. I had a beautiful ginger to help me through the night.” Tim laughed and let out a dreamy moan. “And his moves-”  
“Stop. I don't need to hear that.” Sasha groaned and shook her head. Of course, he would find companionship in another man and meaningless sex.

“Literally no one needs to hear that, Tim” Jon chimed in with a similarly bitter look on his face. Tim got ready to continue, but would you know it, Martin trailed in right after Jon. Looking even more flustered than usually. The thought of _did they just arrive together?_ And _did they spend the night together?_ Shot through his mind and the answer to either of those seemed to painful for him to want to linger on them, so instead, he took another sip of his coffee.  
“Well,” Martin started, giving Tim one of his most charming smiles, that had his heart beat higher, “I'm just glad you had a good time.”

“Thank you, Martin. At least one person in this institute, that actually cares whether or not their coworkers are happy and enjoying their lives.” He huffed, the smile on his face playful. “You two,” Tim pointed at Sasha and Jon, “are just jealous, that I am actually out there living, while you are too busy being boring.”  
“Harsh, Tim.” Sasha shook her head and laughed.  
“Not harsh, honest. I know for a fact, that you spent your evening reading Jane Austen and drinking wine,” he said it as if it was an insult. “If that isn't the first step to growing into a sad cat lady, I don't know what is,” there was no real bite behind his words as he gave Sasha an endearing smile.  
“And Jon. I literally have no idea if you even exist outside the institute.”

Sasha gave him a warning look, knowing full well what this was. He wanted to make them trip-up, admit to their dates or perhaps explain that it was a misunderstanding. Tim was jealous, no matter whether he admitted to it or not.

Tim looked right back, _I need to know,_ was written all over his face and her heart ached for him, but that didn't change the fact, that it was Martin's choice to make. And he didn't even seem to realize that Tim wanted him. Maybe one day, but for the past months, it was obvious, that Martin wanted the other man. She had told him so before, _You need to let go._ And Tim would always nod, a sad smile on his face. _One day I will._

“Oh I exist outside the institute and if you were to search for me, it would be quite easy to find that out.” All eyes shot up to him.  
“What do you mean?” Sasha raised her eyebrows and scooped a little closer to him.  
“Well, let's just say that for a group of _researchers_ you are surprisingly bad at finding information about people.”  
“You know that we looked into you when you started working here.”  
“I am not stupid, Sasha.”  
“Fair enough,” She nodded and was satisfied with that and the knowledge, that there were some things she could still dig up about him. “We will come back to that.”  
Jon nodded in return, “I am sure you will,” the look on both of their faces was almost affectionate.  
Tim, sitting across from Sasha, just watched in confusion, “You two are so odd.”  
“Thank you, I have been told.” Sasha nodded and took a bite from her breakfast.

When Tim looked up at Martin, who was just fixing some tea, to ask for backup on this one, his heart broke a little. The look with which Martin graced Jon was saintlike. Pure fondness and... Tim couldn't get himself to think that this was more than a crush that would soon enough disappear.  
Jon wasn't interesting, funny or kind. Not even good looking. And Tim knew that these thoughts themselves were cruel and Jon was undeserving of them. He had never done anything to provoke them, apart from existing and for some reason being the object of Martin's affection. Tim knew, but that didn't mean he could stop them. Jon didn't deserve dear sweet, compassionate Martin. He didn't deserve this look. And he didn't deserve his heart.

“But I don't see, what's so bad about Jane Austen,” Jon continued and sat down next to Sasha.  
“Thank you, Jon. I knew you are a man of pristine taste,” she playfully bumped his shoulder with hers and gave him a warm smile.  
The whole team was still warming up towards him. He was odd, Tim was right with that, but so was the rest of the team and Sasha, even if she seemed to be one of the only ones with that mindset, found he fitted right in with them.

“Wait, Jon,” Martin put down a cup of tea in front of him, before going to sit next to Tim. “Does that mean there is actually an author you don't hate?” He gasped in faux-shock.  
“What do you mean? Jon is always reading something,” Sasha frowned at the other man.  
“That he is,” Martin grinned and gave Jon a warm smile. Out of the corner of her eyes, Sasha could see Jon blush and look down to his cup of tea.  
Odd indeed.  
“But as I was recently very surprised to find out, he actually disliked most of the things he reads. He harbors an inexplicable hatred for Byron, even. When I asked him about his favorite author he told me he didn't have one. Now Jon, did you just admit that you enjoy Jane Austen novels?”  
Tim would call the look on Martin's face adorable, if not for the fact that it was directed at Jon and only there because of excitement about finding out more about him.  
He hated how bitter his own thoughts sounded to himself.  
  
“Don't tell me you have even read more than one book by her.”  
“More than one...” Tim snapped out of his thoughts and frowned at Jon, “how do you even decide what to read?”  
“I... reach for a book, see if I enjoy the style and.... buy it?”  
Tim had barely ever seen the other man look that uncomfortable and he realized that he must really hate being the center of attention.  
It was almost laughable, but Tim decided to come to his rescue.  
“Boring! Jon's odd, we know that much. And really, who doesn't like some Jane Austen every so often? A little romance never hurt anyone. Speaking of which, that sweet ginger I was talking about...”

Sasha groaned and shook her head at him. “Tim, really. Please stop.” She laughed at him. She wouldn't say it out loud, but she really did love their little crew.

Tim gave her a cheeky grin, then his eyes flew to Jon, who gave him a small nod and grateful look. At least the other man was aware of the fact, that he was helping him out.  
What made it so hard for Tim to not befriend the other, was that he didn't even know Tim and he had any problem at all and Tim couldn't bring himself to _actually_ dislike him.

It was just easier to project negative feelings onto him. Even if Jon was barely even an adult, twenty-four was.... so young. Tim sometimes tended to forget how young the other actually was. He always carried himself with such sovereignty and an air of being better than others around him. Just a little too smart in his field, to actually belong in the institute and a little too aware of it for others to easily like him. He always looked so much more mature than he should be.

But he was all in all good. Nice. Just a little stiff and unusual.  
But there was no reason to actually dislike the kid.  
And that, Tim found, was the worst part.

Tim decided they should get a drink one day, he hoped Jon was enough of a normal young adult to actually drink sometimes.  
Tim decided he wanted to get to know the other.  
He wanted to understand why Martin liked him so much.  
Tim wanted to make sure that Martin wouldn't have to regret it and that Jon would be good to him.

He finished his coffee and stood up. “Well if none of you want to know more about my great night – by the way, I _know_ it's just because of jealousy. But don't worry, if anyone of you should ever need dating advice,” he winked at Sasha, “You know just where to find me.”

“Tim, you haven't been on a date since I know you,” she shook her head and let out an exasperated breath. “But don't worry, we all know you are the grand master of romantic involvements.”  
They held eye contact for a second before Tim rolled his eyes.  
“Jealousy. Anyway, _some_ of us have to work now.”  
And with that, he left.  
“He's an idiot.” The smile and fondness in Sasha's voice took any bite out of the words.  
“But sadly an idiot who is right. I too need to start working. You two... enjoy your tea.”

She stood up as well and petted Jon's shoulder as she left.  
“Does she just pet anyone or...”

“That is a thing she does, yes. It needs some time to get used to, but it's how she shows affection.”  
Jon nodded. He'd live with it, he did like Sasha, so this would be alright.

Their eyes met and the same awkwardness, that had been between the two of the whole day came back over them. Martin had a look on his face, that Jon just couldn't pinpoint, just couldn't tell where it was coming from or what it meant. All wide-eyed with a smile on his lips. It was a look that Jon had never seen directed at him and he didn't know what to do with it, so he ignored it.

The part of his neck, where he had felt Martin at night felt cold.

Jon looked away, back down into his tea, for a second, before taking a sip trying to occupy his mouth with something other than talking and his eyes with something other than Martin.

He turned around to make sure that Sasha and Tim were actually gone, before starting to speak again, deciding to bring this conversation behind him quickly.

If the last night had been any indication, it was obvious he couldn't stay with Martin any longer. Two nights were already more than enough and, really, he shouldn't have taken him up on that offer in the first place. He had to end this before he got used to the look on Martin's face.  
“Uhm, I...” he sighed and found that it was harder than expected for the words to leave his mouth. “I decided that I would go and live in a hotel for as long as it would take to find a new flat. I don't, uh, I don't want to be a burden to you any longer and I think... well, we should save some of our professional integrity, don't you think?” he forced a smile and wondered just for a second, why it was so hard to say that.

He guessed it was the fear of living alone again? He had only lived on his own for a year or two before meeting Georgie and gradually moving in with her.  
The thought of her made him remember the texts and he felt his phone burn hot in his pocket as if shouting for him to finally answer her.  
She deserved better.

“Oh.”  
Jon looked up at the other man and frowned at him. Was that disappointment in his face?  
“I see. Of course.”  
That couldn't be it, though. Jon wanted desperately to know what was going on in the other's mind but found himself unable to ask.  
So he gave him a curt smile and stood up as well. “Thank you for your help, though.”

Martin nodded. “Sure. Anytime.”

And with that, Jon also left for his work, leaving Martin once again to sit alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
> Come and pay me a visit at miister-jacobi.tumblr.com, I'm always happy to chat.


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